Three days passed since returning to Eden’s Court, and Thomas had yet to cross paths with his duchess even once. And when he’d taken it upon himself to visit the dowager house, he’d been promptly sent away. The duchess was not in, he’d been told.
And so, on this afternoon, he took it upon himself to restlessly wander about the endless foyers in Eden’s Court.
She’d been embarrassed that morning at Talon’s Gate. If only she’d speak to him, he could set her fears to rest. None of her family members suspected anything untoward had occurred. He’d given Prescott the impression that the duchess had spent the night alone in the guest house, as that had been more practical to heat, and that he’d spent the night with the animals.
Prescott had merely nodded and then Thomas had sent Cecily and the younger duchess inside the main manor to have a look around.
The only person who suspected anything, he’d guess, was his daughter.
Although one part of him was frustrated at the duchess’ notable absence, another part of him was slightly relieved.
For surely when he did see her again, he’d experience the sting of rejection. Because God help him, he had fallen in love with the blasted woman and she likely could never see past his low birth.
She’d allowed him to bed her, but he doubted she’d want anything more.
Thomas would make his departure on Boxing Day.
He needed to speak with her, though, because despite their ages, he supposed he could still possibly have gotten her with child.
Certainly not a conversation he’d foreseen having at this stage of his life.
He turned the corner, and where an iron gate normally blocked passage, he discovered it slid open. He’d follow this route, as he was growing bored with most of the others.
Ah, yes, the gallery.
Centuries of paintings, artist renderings of the Prescott ancestors preserved for all eternity. He stopped to examine a few of the more interesting ones, but preferred to keep moving.
Until he arrived at hers.
Damned fool that he was. Good God, she was even more beautiful now than when she had been a girl. Studying the likeness, he could almost smell her perfume. Roses, warmth.
“I was barely sixteen when I sat for it.”
He should have known the moment he was no longer alone. The painting had thrown off his senses. She’d crept up beside him. Shifting his gaze toward her, his heart felt lighter all of a sudden.
“You’re even more beautiful now.” Having her here beside him, and having had a taste of her, all his instincts demanded more.
But she held herself stiffly and took two steps away at his words.
“You are a flatterer.” She scoffed. She held her hands behind her back. “But thank you.”
This woman. Damn his eyes, but he wished she didn’t affect him so.
Even now, pinched lips, hair pulled back into an austere knot. But she had not donned her black gowns again. She wore a pale blue instead.
He held her gaze intently, reminding her with his eyes that she could no longer hide from him.
“I don’t waste my time with flattery.” Thomas would not play games.
She dropped her lashes, but nodded. As though she ought to have expected nothing less from him. “Thank you.” Her voice lacked its normal haughtiness, coming out nearly a whisper.
Thomas stepped forward and winged an arm for her. “Will you walk with me?” In almost all aspects of his life, he controlled, directed, ordered. He couldn’t impose his will in this case.
After a moment’s hesitation, she relented, slid her hand in the crook of his arm, and directed them further along the gallery. “I always loved strolling through here. One would think it would be depressing, the constant reminder of what is now gone. But it always comforted me somehow. Made me feel… not so very alone.”
He noticed she used the past tense. “And now?”
She exhaled loudly. “I have lost my sense of belonging. Prescott is gone.” She stopped and pointed at her deceased husband’s portrait and then two others. “As is Lucas…and Harold…”
